


Denying Relief

by Anonymous



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Desperation, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Omorashi, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:15:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26057065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: What would he have done, if it had been Dimitri? If it had been him instead of Felix trapped at some pointless social event with an aching need and nowhere to ease it, no way to escape unnoticed, and every moment more painful, every moment closer to losing control. How would it go?
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 1
Kudos: 50
Collections: Anonymous





	Denying Relief

This party was a terrible idea. Annette had suggested it, all brightness and laughter, as they rode home from the ruins of the bandit outpost, and fo course Dimitri had agreed, and the Professor too. So of course right after they got back, when they’d barely had time to put away weapons and brush down the horses and wash the dirt off their armor, they were all herded into the dining hall and presented with platters of cakes and cookies and other treats he has no interest in but Annette and Mercedes and Ashe coo over with delight.

Why this particular mission deserves such celebration, Felix doesn’t know. He thought Byleth was more sensible than that, immune to the childish whims of some of the other Lions.

It's pointless, and boring, and a waste of time they could be spending doing something useful. And everybody wants to _talk to him_. It’s obnoxious. They spent all say fighting bandits. All he wants to do is eat something and rest and tend to his weapons and armor. Not chit-chat about random nonsense.

The only effective way he’s found to keep people from demanding his opinion on every little thing is to linger around the refreshments table, keeping his attention and his mouth busy with cup after cup of the dark, bitter tea the Professor favors. It’s far more pleasant than the cloying honeyed blends his friends keep trying to push on him.

The unforeseen consequence of this is that very soon he finds he needs to piss, and badly. He ignores it for what feels like hours, because he doesn’t want to deal with the inevitable questions if he tries to leave. But before long he can’t ignore it anymore. And of course that’s when everybody in the room decides they urgently need to talk to him.

Every time he tries to sneak away, there’s always someone in his way with something very important to say. At first it’s Sylvain, offering a sly comment on his performance in battle, or pointing out a pretty girl among the students passing by, as if Felix is interesting in cavorting with random strangers. Felix pushes him away with a sharp rebuke, to which Sylvain only laughs.

And then it’s Annette who wants to talk, and there’s no way he can refuse Annette’s sweet smile and bright voice, or the way she pouts when he ignores her. So he talks, about choir lessons he really doesn’t care for and class events he’s not taking part in, and it’s impossible not to be a little cheered…

Another surge of need ripples through him. He shifts his weight, searching for some posture that’d ease some of the growing pressure within, but finds nothing. Annette frowns and looks like she’s about to ask if he’s all right, but Mercedes appears and so she’s immediately running off to talk to her.

The party continues merrily on, oblivious to his struggle, giving him no chance to escape even for a moment. He wants to twist his legs together, he wants to shove his hands between them, as if that’d help him hold, but he doesn’t. Somehow he manages to stand firm and look normal so that nobody knows how close he is to _pissing himself_ in the middle of the dining hall. But they will know soon. If he has to stand here any longer, he’s going to burst.

Surely he can hold it. He’s a trained fighter, he’s used to his muscles doing what he wants when he wants it. He tells himself that he can hold, that he can weather this until he can move again and then he’ll flee and finally, finally be able to be done with this.

He doesn't. For a fraction of a second, something slips, something refuses to obey, and he’s soaking his underclothes, dripping down his leg. He claws back control, but it’s too late. Fuck. Fuck.

Was it enough to show? To his horror he sees that it does. He’s wearing dark pants, thank fuck, but it’s not going to hide it forever, and wet as he is he _still_ needs to piss and he needs it _now_ or he’s going to get a lot more wet…

He would have thought that the brief release would’ve eased the pressure but the instant of almost-relief has only made it worse. The pain is everywhere now, sparking through his belly and down his thighs. He's tense and trembling, everything in his body screaming that he’s right on the edge of losing control again, and next time he won’t be able to stop it. He wants to blame the others and the stupid party for this, but deep down he knows he did this to himself.

“Ah, Felix!”

That’s Dimitri striding towards him, smiling, bright. Fuck. There’s no way he’s going to get away now, not without Dimitri giving him that ridiculous hurt kitten look like he’s lost his best friend in the world. As if he’s the one hurt.

“ _What?_ ” Felix all but snarls at him. 

Dimitri glances down for only a moment. Felix freezes. He saw. He _knows_. If there’s anything more humiliating, Felix can’t think of it. Except for what’s going to happen if he doesn’t get out of here soon…

Dimitri tears the blue cape from his shoulder. Doesn’t even bother unpinning it first; Felix can hear the threads snapping. He pushes it into Felix’s hands.

“Can you hold this?”

“What the hell, boar…” But a moment later he understands. Half-unfurled and held against his body, it’s just long enough to cover his shame. 

“I wanted to talk to you about something. Can you come outside?” And then Dimitri’s walking out towards the grounds and the pond.

Felix follows. He's never been good at reading people but even he can tell Dimitri is offering an escape, offering relief, and he has no choice but to take it. Since when was Dimitri so good at this? He’s always been the shy and awkward one, even when riled up with the childish determination to go tumbling into trouble.

Every step hurts, every motion seems to jostle and squeeze his bladder. It’s not a long journey, not at all, but it feels like far too long until they’re finally outside and away from curious eyes. Dimitri pauses, looks at him, waits, as if expecting Felix to continue on.

But there’s no time. “Get out of my way or I’m going to piss on you,” Felix snaps. It’s not even a threat, it’s just a fact. He’s panting, writhing. He can’t hold it anymore, there’s no way he’s going to make it all the way around the building and down the hall. Dimitri moves aside. With a snarl of frustration, Felix tears at the laces on his pants just enough to pull out his cock and then he’s pissing heavily into the flowerbed.

It feels so damn good to let go at last. He groans some unintelligible curse at the relief that threatens to make his legs weak and closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to watch the flow. Dimitri says nothing, which is the best thing he’s done all day.

He stands there, all thoughts fled, nothing left but ragged breaths and tears of effort gathering at the corners of his eyes. Damn, he never imagined something as simple and ordinary as a full bladder could turn him into such a pathetic mess.

Finally it eases off and Felix fastens his belt again, trying very hard to ignore how damp the crotch is. He still aches a little from holding so long, but it’s so much better than the throbbing threat that had so nearly overwhelmed him.

“Don’t say anything,” he mutters before Dimitri can.

Peeing in the flowerbeds, how absurd. The professors would probably be upset if they knew, but they’re not going to. He kicks some dirt over the puddles.

Dimitri, predictably, doesn’t listen to him. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, leave me alone.”

Dimitri doesn't get it. “You don’t need to worry about it," he insists, too gentle. "I don’t think anyone else saw.”

“Leave me alone," Felix repeats without looking at him.

“I…” Dimitri hesitates, frowns, finally nods. “All right. But, if you need anything, I… please talk to me.”

As if Felix would trust him again.

He glares at Dimitri’s departing back, so plain without the cape flapping behind him. Something he recognizes as gratitude itches in his chest. Why does Dimitri have to be so _nice_? It’s all a lie. Only Felix knows it’s a lie. And yet, he thinks, staring at the bundle of blue in his hand, without that momentary kindness, he’d probably have pissed himself in front of all the others.

He owes Dimitri, and it’s infuriating. If it had only been the other way around, if it had been the prince desperate and aching...

His cock twitches. That’s an intriguing thought. An exciting one, that makes his throat dry and his heart beat faster. Now he's aching for an entirely different reason, one far more pleasant than his previous predicament. Well, he needs to go back to his room to clean up, if nothing else. Maybe the others won’t notice if he stays away long enough to indulge this thought.

He hurries up the stairs and back to his room without meeting anyone else, thank goodness, closes the door and locks it, strips off his dirty clothing. He throws Dimitri’s torn cape into the corner to think about later.

Quiet at last. And space to wonder.

He perches on his bed and fingers his cock idly as he thinks. What would he have done, if it had been Dimitri? If it had been him instead of Felix trapped at some pointless social event with an aching full bladder and nowhere to empty it, no way to escape unnoticed, and every moment more painful, every moment closer to losing control. And when he finally does...

He'd like to see Dimitri like that, red face and wet spreading stain, proving to the others how much of a disgusting mess he truly is. How would it go? Would he whine? Squirm? Cry?

Felix's cock strains into his hand. It isn't enough, it could be better...

Start from the beginning. It wouldn't matter how Dimitri got himself into such a situation. Only that Felix would be the first to notice his hobbled steps, the strain on his face. Felix would pull him aside, much like Dimitri had done for him, but he wouldn’t be nearly so kind, no. Oh, he’d be merciful enough to keep him from wetting himself in public, but once they're alone, he’ll be harsh, because Dimitri needs _someone_ to speak sense to him, not the comforting mush all the others spew.

So he’d drag Dimitri away from whatever he was doing, scoffing at his complete lack of self-preservation, watching his cheeks redden at the scolding.

No, he needs to imagine less of that, that just risks digging up the feelings he doesn’t want to think about. More of the physical, more of watching Dimitri wrestle his own base needs in a losing fight.

And if Felix forbade him relief, if Felix held him down - never mind he couldn't hope to compete with the boar's monstrous strength - if Felix pinned him to the wall, or the floor, what would happen then?

He'd beg, Felix is certain of it. Consumed by animal need, desperate for relief but knowing he’ll never be allowed relief and dignity both, and looming before him is the moment when his hold will fail and his body will take its needs by force.

_Felix, please, let me go, I can’t hold it…_

He’s getting close, his cock hard and the tip growing slick. It’s been a while since he’s last risked having his satisfaction outpace his imaginings.

But in those imaginings… He'd pull Dimitri’s shirt up, rest his hand against the tight muscles under his stomach, feel them tremble under his touch. Find the few remaining places where he’s soft under his armor and his lies, tender and sensitive enough to groan and whine like a beast at the right touch.

On his bed, eyes closed and hand working furiously, Felix groans at the growing heat, slows his thrusts to savor it.

He'd roll his fingers over the space as Dimitri struggles uselessly to squirm away from his touch. Make sure he can't forget for a moment how utterly full he is, how near to overflowing. Goddess, how much could he hold?

He’s getting close. He quickens his pace, chasing the feeling.

And then they would reach that moment where they both know there's no time left, when even if Felix released his grip Dimitri couldn’t hold long enough or move fast enough to avoid humiliation.

Would Dimitri give in, submit to the desperate urge and all that came after, or would he hold out, whining and pleading, until he breaks, until his bladder doesn’t listen and he pours himself out, soaking his pants and dripping onto the ground, gasping with the force of it…

Felix comes hard over his hand, matching Dimitri’s imagined spray with a far more enjoyable spend of his own. He pumps himself through every hot spurt of it, fantasy shoved aside for the immediacy of orgasm. When it’s done he drops heavily against his pillows, panting, thoughts scattered and skin sparking all over with echoes of pleasure.

Fuck, that was good. He’ll have to explore those thoughts again. It’s enough reward, he decides, for enduring all the worried questions he’s going to get tomorrow about why he left so suddenly.

He trusts Dimitri not to tell. It might be the only thing he trusts from his once-friend anymore, but it’s true.

He can deal with all the thoughts that _that_ realization brings later.


End file.
